


Magnolias and Irises

by wesleysgirl



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angel Book of Days Challenge, Episode: so3e06 Billy, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-03
Updated: 2003-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from <i>Billy</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnolias and Irises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ljs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ljs/gifts).



Lindsey lets himself in the front door of Lilah's apartment when there's no reply to his knocking. 

She'd given him a key at the end of the previous summer -- not because she trusted him, she said. Just because it was more convenient; and besides, she could change the locks whenever she wanted to. 

So he's a bit surprised when the key still fits into the locks. The handle turns, and the door opens. He sets his bag down just inside the door and loosens his tie. Thinks about saying "Honey, I'm home," but then, with Lilah you can never be too sure how she'll take something like that.

Lindsey is even more surprised to see that Lilah is in the apartment -- standing over near the window, looking out at the city.

"I didn't know you were home," he says. 

"I didn't know it was you." Lilah's voice is flatter than usual, and Lindsey can hear the tinkle of ice in the drink she must be holding, even though she doesn't turn around.

He tries not to be offended that she'd forgotten he was coming -- after all, this is Lilah. Not like it should be a surprise. "Who'd you think it was?"

Lilah snorts. "Angel." She takes a sip of her drink.

Lindsey blinks in surprise, and moves over to make himself a drink, since the chance that Lilah's going to play hostess is obviously non-existent. "Figures. What'd he want this time?" He pours scotch into a glass -- no ice, no water -- and crosses the room to stand behind her.

She still doesn't look at him. "Oh, you know... information."

"I take it you told him to get lost."

"You really do know me." The sarcasm's there in Lilah's voice again, back where it belongs.

"Look, if this is a bad time or whatever, just say the word and I'm out of here," Lindsey tells her, like it wouldn't be a big deal, which isn't the truth. He reaches out to turn her around, and under the soft fabric of her brown blouse he feels the utter tension in her body. 

She turns to face him, and he learns why.

"Jesus," Lindsey breathes, the word a curse in the quiet of the room. "What the fuck happened? Are you -- ?"

"Yeah, that's what he asked too," Lilah says, and knocks back the rest of her drink. Her face is bruised, one eye totally swollen shut and the other so blackened that the discoloration looks painted on. "I'm fine."

He reaches out to touch her face, but wisely realizes at the last second that it will only hurt her. "What happened?" he asks again, pulling back his hand.

"I had a run-in with Gavin." Lilah brushes past him, and mutters, "Easily-manipulated little prick."

Lindsey thinks that's a pretty accurate description of Gavin, all things considered, but he's still trying to wrap his brain around how this happened. He decides to go with the simplest question. "So who manipulated him?"

Lilah pours herself another drink before answering. Lindsey can't tell how long she's been drinking, but she seems completely unaffected by it. "Mystical influence," she says, with an aborted movement that was probably meant to flip her hair out of her eyes. "It's a long story."

Lindsey goes to her, and tenderly tucks the lock of hair back behind her ear. "Should I ask how he looks right now?"

"Let's not go there," Lilah says, her good eye searching his like she's looking for something and isn't sure if he can provide it. "Just trust me when I say I got off lucky." Her hands are shaking, just a little bit.

"Doesn't look like it from where I'm standing," Lindsey tells her, and he's not arguing with her, but she seems to take offense anyway.

"Please. I'm not like you. I don't take off when the going gets tough."

He brushes his fingertips lightly against her cheekbone. "Sometimes you've gotta get while the getting's good."

Lilah sighs, and leans into his touch. "Let's not have this argument again." She glances up at him, and despite the pain that's evident in her expression, there's a hint of what might be humor there too. A little twitch of her lips toward a sardonic grin. "Besides, you know who always wins."

Lindsey kisses her, more gently than either of them are used to. This -- whatever it is, between them -- isn't about tenderness or affection, because Lindsey would never admit to her that he feels both. It's always been about sex, about hard hot fucking despite a general vague dislike for each other that runs deeper than either of them could ever explain. 

He hears the soft thump of her glass hitting the floor as she drops it and clings to him, her grasp almost frantic. Her tongue meets his, and she tastes like scotch and, just a little bit, like blood. 

Lindsey wonders if this is what kissing Angel would be like.

But no, Angel would be cooler, because of the whole vampire-no-body-heat thing. Lilah's anything but cool. She's scorching, an armful of flames that wouldn't think twice about burning him. About leaving him to burn.

Lilah's hands grasp him with unfamiliar desperation, and Lindsey tries to respond with something that might offer comfort to her, but when he pulls back she's crying.

"Hey," he says, not wanting to push her if she doesn't want to let him get this close, but wanting the offer to be there. He feels like this is a much more complicated game than any of the ones he ever played at Wolfram and Hart.

She sniffles, just once, and then bites her lower lip where it's already split and bleeding. He can see her take a deep breath, calming herself, but he makes a bet with himself that she won't apologize, even though he thinks that crying -- or almost crying -- is probably the only thing she'd consider apologizing for. 

He wins his bet. 

"Long day," Lilah says, and slips past him toward the bathroom.

She's back in less than two minutes, and Lindsey can see that she's powdered her face and reapplied her mascara. To the one eye that's actually open, that is. Her lips has stopped bleeding.

Lilah picks her glass up off the rug, ignoring the wet spot, and refills it. 

There's a book on the counter, a coffee-table kind of book, designed to lie flat when opened. It's sitting there like it's been living there -- other stuff around it, but nothing set directly on it. Like nothing's allowed to touch it. 

"What's this?"

"What? Oh." Lilah sees what he's looking at. She looks like she wants to move it away from him, or close it, but as if she can't quite bring herself to. He can see her make an effort to recover something more like her usual demeanor. "It's an art book. Gee, Linds, I'd think even you would know what that was."

Lindsey gives her a good-natured frown. He reaches for the book, and slides it half a foot closer so that he can get a look at the page it's open to. It's a photo of a stained glass window -- purple flowers in the foreground, white-blossomed trees just behind them, a river and mountains fading into the distance. "What's so special about this one?"

"I didn't say it was special," Lilah tells him, and takes a sip of her drink. She's trying way too hard for casual, and Lindsey's not sure why.

"Tiffany," he says. 

"Ooh, very good. You've been keeping up with your adult reading lessons," Lilah says, with a little smirk that looks something more like the real thing.

"Screw you," Lindsey says, and then, "Oh wait, I already have. Quite a few times actually."

Lilah's hand snakes out and pinches his ass, hard, and he twitches, almost spilling his drink onto the book. 

"Come on," he says, holding his glass between two fingers and dangling it precariously above the picture as if he's about to let it slip. "Tell me."

Without hesitating, Lilah picks the book up and steps away from him. Lindsey can see her eyes linger on the page for a moment too long before she resolutely closes the book and sets it to one side. "It's nothing," she says. 

"Liar."

"Fuck off." Lilah says it without heat. "Some people *do* like art, you know. Just because you're a little ole hillbilly at heart, doesn't mean the rest of us are."

Lindsey gives up for now. It's his style -- wait until she thinks he's forgotten whatever they were arguing about, then bring it up again when she least expects it.

There's a knock at the door.

"Oh, fantastic," Lilah says. "What is this, Grand Central Station?"

"Hang on." Lindsey moves quickly and quietly over to the door and looks out the peephole. On the other side is a young girl with dark hair who he knows works with Angel, even though it's been long enough that he's forgotten her name.

"It's that girl that works for Angel," he tells Lilah softly. "You want me to get rid of her?"

Lilah shakes her head, then winces. "She'll probably stand out there all night if I don't talk to her. But get out of here, will you? Into the bedroom or something."

"You're ashamed of me, aren't you." Lindsey can't quite pull off the accusation, and grins.

"Shut up." Lilah gives him a shove in the direction of the bedroom, and he slips in and shuts the door just before he hears her open the apartment door.

Lindsey stands and listens as Lilah and Cordelia -- that's her name -- have a short but vigorous conversation about someone named Billy, who's apparently the person who made Gavin attack Lilah. Cordelia accuses Lilah of crying, and Lilah insists that she's no Lindsey McDonald. 

Well, good to know that she's as willing to backstab as she is to say it right to his face.

The conversation falls into something he doesn't quite understand then. Shoes, and something about the seasons. Lindsey wonders if it's some sort of woman-speak, but just as he's thinking this the topic veers sharply back into good old Wolfram and Hart territory.

Girl's got spunk, Lindsey has to give her that. By the time she leaves, Lilah's given away the game. Told her where Billy Blim is going.

He hears the front door close again, and comes out of the bedroom, but Lilah is already pushing past him and into her room, turning on the closet light as she unbuttons her blouse.

"What are you doing?"

She gives him a look over her shoulder. "Changing."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why?"

"Because I'm sure as hell not going to let *her* deal with *my* revenge." Lilah lets the blouse slip to the ends of her fingers and then drops it on a nearby chair, but before she can reach for a replacement, Lindsey steps closer and kisses the bruise on her bare shoulder.

"Sounded like she thinks it's hers too. And you didn't seem too interested in getting revenge before." He's not really arguing with her, he's just interested to know what she's thinking. He kisses her throat, and Lilah tips her head back onto his shoulder.

"Yeah, well... things change." She grabs a thin gray shirt from a hanger and slides it over her head, then pulls on a blazer. She starts for the bedroom door, and Lindsey stops her with a hand on her upper arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asks.

Lilah pulls out of his grasp and goes out into the kitchen, and Lindsey follows her. Watches as she opens a drawer and takes out an automatic pistol, watches as she checks to make sure that it's loaded. "I'm going to take care of it," she says. "You want something done right, you've got to do it yourself."

***

Lindsey drives her, because he doesn't think she should be behind the wheel with her eye swollen shut. For that matter, he has no idea how she's going to be able to fire a gun -- not because of her eye, but because of the way her hands are still shaking.

He won't offer to do it for her, though. That isn't the kind of relationship they have. In fact, he's not even allowed to use the word 'relationship.' She has a thing about that.

"You're sure you want to do this?"

Lilah nods, the gun in her lap. 

All she says as she gets out of the car is, "This shouldn't take long."

***

She's right. In less than five minutes, Lindsey hears the gun discharge, twice.

And then Lilah's back, the weapon still cradled in her hand like it's her new best friend.

"So what now?" Lindsey asks as he puts the car into gear and heads back for Lilah's apartment.

"Now? Nothing." Lilah strokes the pistol one last time, then opens the glove compartment and puts the gun inside, as if she doesn't plan on ever seeing it again.

"Uh, you do realize that this is my car."

"It's a rental," Lilah says.

Never mind, Lindsey thinks. He'll take the gun out and get rid of it before he drops the car off at the airport. He glances over, and the lights from cars passing in the other direction play across Lilah's bruised and swollen face. "You been to see a doctor?"

"I'm fine," Lilah says, adjusting the collar of her blazer.

"That's not what I asked."

She sighs dramatically. Her non-answer is as good as a real one would have been.

***

They fuck -- it's always fucking, never making love, because this will never be love -- and then lie side by side on the bed, breathless. Lindsey'd figured sex would be the last thing Lilah would have wanted, what with her face the way it is -- but then, she's never been all that interested in kissing him. 

At least, not on the mouth.

"I need a drink," she says finally. She gets up and slides her arms into a silk robe, not bothering to tie it. Her breasts are framed by the pale cream of the fabric, and the bruises on them -- finger-sized bruises that Lindsey didn't put there -- look dark and, disturbingly, not entirely as if they don't belong. 

He rolls onto his stomach and looks at her. "Thanks a lot."

Lilah pauses in the doorway and drawls, "Aww. Did you get your feelings hurt, Lindsey?" She smiles flirtatiously. "It wasn't a comment on your performance, trust me."

"Trust you? I don't think so." Lindsey says it lightly, knowing that it was a slip of the tongue on her part, but feeling flattered all the same. 

Lindsey gets up and follows her into the kitchen, and watches while she pours herself another scotch. He's already lost track of how many she's had this evening. She drinks more like a man than a woman -- not in quantity, although he thinks she's had enough tonight to fell a WWF wrestler -- but in the way she holds the glass. In the way she takes real swallows, not just delicate sips. 

Lilah has, Lindsey thinks, been in a man's world too long. 

He slips a hand inside her robe and runs gentle fingers over the curve of her waist, and she curls into the touch. "Mm. Never hurts to remind me why I let you come."

Lindsey licks her ear, one of the spots that is undamaged. "Because I make *you* come," he tells her, with a small grin. 

She chuckles softly and moves away, but only over to where she left the book sitting earlier. She sets her glass on the counter, and opens the book to the exact same page it had been open to before, as if she's practiced in finding this particular picture. "You want to know why I like this one so much?" she asks. Her voice is almost dreamy.

Lindsey takes the three steps necessary to reach her side, but he doesn't touch her. He can feel how fragile this moment is -- the wrong move, the wrong word, and whatever spell she's under will be broken. "Why?"

"It's perfect." Lilah runs a finger over the glossy smooth surface of the page, tracing the branch of a tree. "The colors, the flowers... look at the sky. Have you ever seen an actual sky look that beautiful?" She doesn't even sound like herself. Lindsey's not sure if she's drunk -- suddenly, as if everything she'd had all day long had caught up with her -- or something else. 

All he knows is that he wants to hear what she has to say.

"It's beautiful," he agrees, and then offers, tentatively, "I've seen the sky look like that." There are parts of Oklahoma where it never looks like anything else.

"It's like a dream." Lilah doesn't turn to look at him. She just keeps staring at the picture, her finger moving across branches and curving over mountains. "It's like nothing in real life."

To Lindsey it's just a picture of stained glass -- nice enough, but whatever perfection Lilah sees in it isn't there for him.

"Some nights," Lilah says, her voice still pitched soft and throaty, "I come home and stand here and just... look at it."

"Yeah." He may not understand why she's latched onto this picture -- might never be able to -- but wanting beauty, that he can understand.

WIthout another word, Lilah tilts the book upright in one hand, and tears the page from it with the other. One smooth rip -- it sounds less like paper tearing and more like fabric, maybe -- and page and book are separated.

"What are you...?"

Lilah shakes her head with a small grimace, lets the book fall closed, and crumples the page in her hands. Wads it down into a tight little ball, her fingers going white with the force of her grip. 

She tosses the ball toward the small trash bin across the room, and hits her target with amazing accuracy.

"There," Lilah says, all trace of real peace gone from her voice. Only cold hard satisfaction remains. "Takes care of that little problem, doesn't it."

She goes back to the bedroom without saying anything else, and after a minute of stunned confusion, Lindsey follows her.

***

The next morning, they have sex in the shower, and Lindsey adds a new bruise to Lilah's body. This one looks less like it belongs there. They have coffee, and juice, and some exotic ripe melon that seems as out of place as the bruise. As out of place as Lindsey himself.

Their goodbyes are brief, as always.

When Lindsey goes to leave, he happens to glance into the trash bin. It's empty, and when he looks, there's a once-crumpled, now-smoothed-out piece of paper in between the pages of the book that's still on the kitchen counter.

There's a smile on his face as he steps outside into the sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJS for the Angel Book of Days Summer Challenge. Prompt: Lilah, Lindsey ~ No non-consensual sex
> 
> Author's notes ~ Much thanks to Magpie and Lacy for their assistance.


End file.
